


iced chai latte for mr steve rogers?

by transpeterparker (partlycharlie)



Series: pride month 2k19 [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gay Steve Rogers, M/M, Starbucks, THERES NO DEATH HERE THE TAG WAS WRONG SJFJSBFJSFJFJ, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Washington Square Park, aka peter's not spiderman but steve is still cap, also i tried to type in MJ and it only gave me mjolnir i was SO CONFUSED LET ME TELL YOU, hell yeah boys, that should be a tag, the transness isn't over there's like two mentions over it, this is mostly peter fanboying over steve, this is so fucking funny i love this fic let me tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/pseuds/transpeterparker
Summary: Working in New York is… an experience, to say the least.Now, Peter’s lived in the city all his life, so he’s used to the smell of cigarette smoke and homeless people’s shit and rat piss, but sometimes something happens to him and he just has to stop for a second, let it sink in how fuckingweirdhis life is.For example: the day literalCaptain Americawalked into Starbucks during his shift and ordered a grande iced chai latte.





	iced chai latte for mr steve rogers?

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even remember how i thought of this fic but. it's fucking hilarious and i had so much fun writing it so. hope u enjoy!!

Working in New York is… an experience, to say the least. 

Now, Peter’s lived in the city all his life, so he’s used to the smell of cigarette smoke and homeless people’s shit and rat piss, but sometimes something happens to him and he just has to stop for a second, let it sink in how fucking _weird_ his life is.

For example: the day literal _Captain America_ walked into Starbucks during his shift and ordered a grande iced chai latte. 

Listen - Peter’s not entirely _unfamiliar_ with celebrities in New York. He works at the Starbucks right outside Washington Square Park, right in the middle of the Village - DiCaprio came in the day after he won his Oscar and all of them gave him a huge round of applause, and Tom Cruise likes to come in once in a while to order the most _ridiculous_ orders (who in the hell wants a pumpkin spiced latte with six pumps of caramel in the middle of April?).

But. This is CAPTAIN AMERICA.

Still - Peter’s a professional, and he will treat this ~~NATIONAL ICON HOLY SHIT~~ man with the respect he deserves.

Which is to say, he’ll treat CAPTAIN AMERICA (!!!!) like any other customer - the man’s wearing a Met's baseball cap and sunglasses, for Pete’s (hah) sake, he’s obviously trying to fly under the radar.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks! How can I help you today?” Peter says in his most bland “I’m-so-excited-to-see-you-random-customer” voice he can manage.

CAPTAIN AMERICA looks down at his phone for a second, squinting at the words on his screen. (His sunglasses are sliding down his face.) “Sorry - my friend, uh. Texted me his order.”

“No problem,” Peter says, smiling at the Met's logo.

There’s somebody standing behind Captain America, but they don’t seem too bothered (Peter wouldn’t be, either).

Finally, Captain America looks up. “Um. He wants - can - sorry. Can I get a, uh. A grande iced chai latte?” he asks, pronouncing _grande_ like “gran-day” and _latte_ like “lahh-tay”. 

“Yeah, of course. That’ll be - $4.25, please. Can I have a name?”

Captain America freezes. “Uh.”

Peter keeps smiling pleasantly.

“Chris?”

_WHO THE FUCK TOLD THIS MAN HOW MUCH HE LOOKS LIKE CHRIS EVANS I BET IT WAS TONY STARK OH MY GOD._

Peter keeps smiling pleasantly.

“Alright, Chris. Cash or card?”

Captain America / Chris breathes out, looking relieved. 

(Was he expecting Peter to call him out on that? Are you _kidding?_ This man is a national fucking icon. He can call himself Naughty Santa Man, for all Peter cares.) 

“Uh - card.”

\---

 **pbp:** CAPTAIN AMERICA JUST BOUGHT STARUBCKYS FROM ME

 **mj:** what did he get

 **pbp:** ICED CHAI LATTE

 **mj:** man has good taste for being a product of the government

 **pbp:** HE GOT IT FOR A FRIEND KSHDGFUOHASLNF  
**pbp:** DO YOU THINK IT WAS FOR THE WINTER SOLDIER DKBFSUOADLFJS FUKC

\---

The next time Captain America (!!!!!) comes in, Peter starts to realize that maybe he shouldn’t call him Captain America (!!!!!) in his head.

Steve. Right, yes. Peter will call him Steve.

“Hey - Peter, right?” Steve says.

_OH GOD I’M ON A FIRST NAME BASIS WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA WHAT IS MY LIFE?_

“Hey! Chris?” Peter replies, a perfectly normal (and professional!!!) smile pasted on his face.

He’s fucking nailing this shit.

“Oh, uh.” Steve looks kind of embarrassed. It’s embarrassing how cute it is. (Shut up, Peter, you thirsty thot. He’s literally like six times older than you and madly in love with another old guy.) “My name’s Steve, actually. Sorry.”

“No problem. I totally get it, actually - this one time I ordered something at Shake Shack and the guy asked me for my name and I said Melinda? I dunno, I think it’s just another one of those things.”

Steve laughs. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

“So. Anyway - what can I do you for?”

\---

 **peter:** IM ON A FIRST NAME BASIS WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA  
**peter:** HIS NAME IS STEVE

 **ned:** Peter, we learned about Steve Rogers in the second grade.  
**ned:** This is not new news.

 **peter:** STILL

\---

The third time ~~Captain America~~ Steve comes in, he’s running. 

Peter (thank fuck) is behind the pastry case, bent over to count the number of cheese danishes they have left (and maybe take one for himself, to be honest). Steve runs in, takes a flying LEAP over the registers, and lands in a crouch in the employee area.

Peter is _painfully_ aroused.

(Thank fuck he doesn’t have a penis. That could’ve been really awkward.)

“Don’t let them know I’m here,” Steve whispers, crawling back until he’s smushed against the counter. 

“Um. Okay?”

(Thank fuck the shop’s basically empty right now. The only guy in here is Horse, and he’s sure as hell not going to say anything about Captain America running in here and flying into the counter; nobody would believe him.)

Peter straightens up, clutching a cheese danish in one hand, right in time for a literal horde of reporters to rush in, all armed with microphones and their respective cameramen.

Oh, gross.

This he can handle.

“Hey, guys!” Peter says, putting on his best “please-don’t-start-some-shit” customer service smile. “Anything I can help you with, or are you guys just taking a collective break?”

“Oh, cut the shit, honey,” one of them snarls.

Peter’s eye twitches. “I’m sorry?”

“He _said_ to cut the _shit._ Where’s Cap?”

His smile tightens a little bit. “Uh - Captain America?” he asks, pretending like he doesn’t fucking know what they mean by _Cap._

God, he’s a fucking _pro._

Christine Everheart pushes her way to the front and rolls her eyes. “Listen - Petra? Is that your name? Petra -”

“Peter.”

“Uh. Peter, sure, whatever - we saw Steve Rogers walk in here. Where is he?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sorry, no. He’s only been in here once, and that was ages ago. I wasn’t even here for it, actually - it really sucked, I had to hear about the whole thing from my friend MJ, and I was _so_ jealous? ‘Cause, like, I’ve idolized him ever since I was a little kid, and -”

“Listen, kid -” somebody starts, but Peter’s on a roll.

“- I totally would’ve gotten him to sign my arm, but I was literally in Queens that day to visit my mom, and I haven’t actually taken a day off since, ‘cause I’m lowkey - HIGHKEY - hoping he’ll come by again and I’ll _conveniently_ have a Sharpie - not really, we actually have to have them to write names on the cups for when the receipt doesn’t work -”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“- but anyway, I’ll have my Sharpie and I’ll be all like ‘Oh hi, Mister Captain America, would you please just sign my arm real quick?’ And he’ll be like -”

“Okay, everybody OUT,” Everheart shouts, and the crowd shoves its way back out of the store, groaning and grumbling. 

Peter waits fourty-five seconds, counting them under his breath while waving to them cheerfully, then says, “Okay, you can come up now.”

Steve pops up. “That was… that was kind of incredible, actually.”

Peter blows out a huge breath. “You think so? People tell me I have a penchant for rambling, but I never thought it’d be put to use like this.”

“Nah, it was great,” Steve says, smiling. “Seriously, thanks a lot, Peter.”

Peter smiles, wide. It feels good. “Thanks. Seriously, though - why were they following you?”

“Oh, uh. Buck and I - my partner -” Peter squeals in his mind, but keeps the delight off his face because he is a professional. “- were holding hands in the park and somebody shouted ‘ARE YOU A FAGGOT?’ and, well. It kind of devolved from there.”

“Oh, yikes. You okay?” Peter glances down at Steve’s knuckles, but they don’t seem bruised, so maybe the Winter Soldier (!!!!!!!!!!) did most of the punching.

“Eh, yeah, I’m fine. More the shock that got to me than anything else.”

Peter hums, nodding. “Yeah, I get that.”

Steve’s eyes focus in on his nametag, _Peter!_ written in deliberately blocky handwriting. “Yeah, I guess you would, huh?”

Peter smiles.

“Anyway.” Steve claps a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Thanks so much for your help today, Peter. You really saved my ass out there.”

He nods fast. “Yeah, yeah, of course, any time.”

Before Peter can offer to swing open the hatch for him, Steve braces himself on the counter with a hand and then just… _jumps._ He lands solidly on the other side (Peter envies his ankles) and jogs off with a wave.

The door shuts with a little jingle.

Peter sucks in a breath, puffs in his cheeks, and lets it out. “Jesus Christ.”

He looks around. Almost everything looks the same, almost like he wasn’t there at all, except - 

Peter’s eyes narrow. On the floor is a little piece of paper with a paper clip attached to it. He picks it up, scanning it.

 

_Seriously, thanks. I really appreciate it._

_\- Steve/Chris_

_P.S. You can’t give it back, but let me know if you need anything. (917) 879-6013_

 

Holy shit, he has Steve’s phone number.

Wait - give it back? What would he give back?

Peter turns over the paper, not really expecting much of anything - maybe a dollar? - but.

Oh, fuck.

That’s - Peter pulls the money out of the clip, counts it out.

That’s six hundred dollars.

Holy Jesus _Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> please give me prompts guys. im begging. please. shgbaslsdkbhfiaoslkvsn


End file.
